they're ALIVE.

Salutations from the land of the messiest house and an alarming amount of rampant teeny tiny toddler fires that are in perpetual need of a mother extinguisher and never ending + unsolvable cases of missing sippy cups and matching socks but the blog must go on, right? Right. If only for you three remaining readers that clung to the hope that the mother of all sinfully wordy over-sharers would someday return to the glow of your screen of choice with tales of Costco trips and rosy call weekend diatribes ... it must go on. Or let's say it shall go on. Must is a little much and not necessarily true.

Since you're generally accustomed to unsolicited and daily play-by-plays I thought I would ease back into the murky Camp waters-o-fun and give you some brief updates on the cast of characters around here. Let's start with my favorite husband.

Simon still plays the role of favorite favorite FAVORITE parent while still logging too many hours at the hospital and working on research projects and papers at night.

He has some big tests coming up and so he brings his study materials to read in bed which includes a massive book titled, "Vaginal Surgery" complete with anatomy photos of things like the "deep perineum" (it's a thing) and as winter makes her final descent on St. Louis he regularly reports how much warmer the weather in Tampa is at the current moment.

Grace writes entirely too much about herself and will sit out this round. De nada.

Julia has taken to sleeping in as late as she fancies (10:30? 11? it's impressive and does not a jealous mother make ... at all) on the days she doesn't have school and her new favorite food is mustard + peanut butter sandwiches.

She has taken to calling Phoebe, "Feebz" and Sebastian, "Sweetie" which is interesting considering how often she and Sweetie fight to the almost death. She often furrows her brow and asks, "are you okay, Mom?!" which is endearing and odd because I generally flit about the house with a perma-grin and sparkling gladitude.

Sebastian regularly and defiantly declares that any food I make is, "too yuck" which does wonders for my culinary confidence.

He sneaks the majority of his meals onto Theo's plate and I suspect he survives solely on thieved yogurts and string cheese. Despite the frigid temperatures he will only wear glorified Crocs and socks on his feet in public and I've decided to skip that battle that would inevitably turn into war.

Theo is holding strong as resident rooster and wakes up at new and ungodly hours every morning.

He is always happy to show absolutely no remorse. Mother Mole Eyes might toss a string cheese and a sippy of water into his crib to keep him occupied and buy some precious couch sleeping minutes while the sun rises ... or she might not. She'll never tell. He still has a zero word lexicon but is strangely skilled at getting his frantic monosyllabic points across when necessary.

Phoebe has discovered the joys of table food and Phoebe-led weaning. The child has yet to meet a food she does not love and the happiest moments (hours?) of her day are spent in the high chair with anything edible.

She voices loud and visible frustration when she discovers that certain items (my engagement ring, my shirt buttons, the nasty burn blister on my forearm) are inedible. She would like to announce that she's made the exciting decision to grow out her hair to at least chin length ...

... and is fiercely dedicated to the decade long journey.

Is that everyone? It IS. Despite the grocery store mathematician declaring he didn't know how I handled, "six rugrats!!" this morning ... that's everyone!

And we'll be back.
Tomorrow.
And the day after that.
And the day after that.
And the day after - you get it.
Get excited.
I know you are.